SO I ALMOST MARRIED A HIT MAN
By Greg Emerson
thedistresser1963@yahoo.com
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I figured I would just spit the sock out, but it wasn’t that easy. In fact, it wasn’t happening.
With my jaws distended, I couldn’t make them work properly. The sock was huge and completely filled my mouth. I tried biting down on it to lessen its size, but the damn material kept bouncing back to its original mass.
I whimpered and made pouting sounds.
“NNNNGH!” I said, hoping the men would hear my call of distress.
No one came.
Come on—this can’t be that difficult. I can surely expel a sock from my mouth!
I shook my head, tried working my tongue, tried flexing my jaws.
The damn thing didn’t budge. If anything, it was even deeper into my mouth.
I gave up after several minutes, stunned at my failure.
Swallowing was tough, because my lips weren’t sealed shut, which in a crazy way made it easier to swallow because with my mouth closed, my jaws weren’t nearly as distended.
I tossed my head back in frustration, grunting.
The men were eating me out of house and home, apparently. They were in the kitchen for every bit of 30-35 minutes. It was getting close to 11:00 now.
I sighed and looked around. The equipment sat like a white elephant in my front room. I tried to think of what Earl Battey could possibly have done to make him the target of all this stuff and this operation against me.
For a moment I got a chill when I considered whether Travis had the wrong man!
What if Earl wasn’t the target? What if there was a mixup?
My heart started pounding with the thought.
It was still thumping pretty good when the men FINALLY returned to the front room.
I looked at them, still feeling foolish with a sock in my mouth.
Travis ignored me as he went to the equipment. Brick gave me a brief glance, during which time I gave him the best pleading, damsel-in-distress look I could.
Neither man made a move toward me, however. Neither was interested in taking the sock out of my mouth.
Deep down, I guess I really couldn’t blame them. I had been a little bratty, and they had work to do. I probably would have left the sock in, too.
The men went through their equipment checks in about 10 minutes. I drummed my fingers lightly on the armrests and tapped my toes gently into the carpet, trying to be patient.
My jaws were beginning to ache.
The equipment check finished, I grunted with urgency.
When I made eye contact with them, I gave a puppy dog look with my green eyes.
“Hunnnngh?”
I batted my eyelashes for good measure.
But these were no ordinary men. They weren’t easily swayed by a woman’s wicked wiles. Even Brick, who seemed vulnerable initially, had steeled himself and was distancing himself from me, which gave me great angst.
“HUNNNGHH?”
Again with the eyelashes.
Travis approached me. He wasn’t smiling.
“You want the sock out of your mouth?”
I nodded, knowing he was just asking me that question so he could set up his next volley.
“Can you keep quiet?”
I lied and nodded.
“PROMISE?”
Now he was trying to embarrass me in front of Brick, as I had tried to do to Travis earlier.
I nodded, but not very forcefully. My heart wasn’t into the nod.
“Liar,” Travis said, but despite his distrust of my words, he reached into my mouth and took hold of the sock.
“Open,” he said, and I did so. In a flash the sock was yanked from my mouth.
I licked my lips and worked my jaw—again.
“Thank you,” I said, sincerely.
“Yeah, yeah,” Travis said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Fifteen minutes had passed. It was nearly 11:30 p.m.
After ungagging me, Travis sat on the sofa and started messing around with his Blackberry, glancing at me on occasion, not trusting me or my mouth.
Brick was engrossed in the owner’s manual of one of the pieces of equipment, sitting on the floor.
No one said anything. Until I did—naturally.
I cleared my throat and asked, sweetly, “May I have something to eat, Travis? It’s been hours since the salad.”
Travis glanced at me.
“What do you want?”
I shrugged. “Pretty much anything. I’m famished and I want to keep my strength up.”
He looked at me warily.
“Keep your strength up? Why? So you can try to escape?”
I chuckled ruefully. “Yeah, right—like I could get away from you two guys.”
Travis rose from the sofa. “I’ll go get something from the kitchen.”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling.
When Travis was out of earshot, I turned my attention to Brick, still engrossed in his damn manual.
“Hey,” I whispered.
Brick slowly turned to me. “Hmmm?” he said, still looking at his manual.
Men and their toys!
I sighed. “Look at me.” I was still whispering.
He put the manual down finally.
“How long have you known Travis?” I asked, still whispering.
He whispered back, which I thought was cute.
“About five years. Why?”
I glanced toward the kitchen before resuming, making sure Travis wasn’t within earshot. I had no idea how much time I’d have, because Travis wasn’t given specifics on what to feed me.
“Is he…does he…,” I started twice, biting on my lower lip. “He’s a killer, right?”
Brick shifted on the floor, swallowing.
“He is, isn’t he?” I said, disappointedly.
Brick could only bring himself to nod.
I slowly nodded, staring into space.
“Damn,” was all I managed to say.
Travis came back with a sandwich. I was impressed. I thought he’d have just grabbed something in a bag or a box.
“Any chance of me being able to feed myself?” I asked, hopefully.
“Nope,” Travis said flatly.
“Didn’t think so,” I said, smirking.
Travis fed me, my mouth chomping down on the salami sandwich with rapidity.
“It’s dry,” I said. “Can I have something to drink?”
Travis grabbed the bottle of water that Brick had let me sip from earlier.
“Thank you,” I said, some water dribbling down my chin.
Travis looked distant and in his own little world. His eyes weren’t focused on anything.
I got nosey.
“You alright over there? You look like you’re a million miles away,” I said before taking another bite of sandwich.
He snapped back into this solar system.
“Yeah…just thinking.”
I smelled a conversation. Maybe Travis would let me have one with him? A nice conversation, one that wasn’t going to end with him jamming a sock into my mouth.
“About what?” I asked softly and in a non-threatening manner.
He looked at me and shrugged.
I thought I knew, so I spoke up again.
“About this job?”
He looked at me, but didn’t react yea or nay.
“You thinking about what you have to do to that man?”
Travis shrugged.
“You are, aren’t you?” I pressed, but trying to show empathy instead of sheer curiosity.
Travis looked at me.
“More sandwich?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m good. Look, is this bothering you? I mean, because it’s me sitting here?”
Travis looked at me and frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Yes—a conversation! And bonus—it was about feelings and stuff.
“I mean…does it bother you that you’re doing this to me?”
PLEASE let him say yes.
Travis cleared his throat.
“It would bother me more if you weren’t taped. At least this way I’m pretty sure you won’t be any trouble.”
Not exactly the answer I was looking for, but there you have it.
Disappointed, I nodded.
“More sandwich?”
I shook my head, a little sadly.
I was hoping he’d pick up my vibe and ask me about my feelings.
A girl can hope, can’t she?
Instead, Travis folded the paper plate around the half-eaten sandwich and walked into the kitchen.
I tossed my head back and sighed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Brick broke the silence this time, as Travis was in the bathroom.
“You could do better pulling teeth than getting that man to open up,” Brick offered.
“Oh? Why do you say that?” I said, impressed that Brick spoke up.
He chuckled. “You have to ask?”
Good point.
“Well, maybe no one has ever asked him the right way,” I said, and even I didn’t believe me.
Brick gave me a look that said, “You gotta be kidding.”
Good point, again.
Travis returned, saw that Brick and I had been conversing, and his eyes narrowed.
“What about me were you talking about?” Travis said.
We both tried to play innocent, with shrugs and mumbled denials.
“Right,” Travis said, sarcastically.
It was almost midnight.
I yawned. I’d been up since 6:30 a.m., getting ready for work.
“You’re not expecting me to sleep in this chair, are you?” I asked Travis, who was nodding off on the sofa. Brick was snoring in my overstuffed chair.
“You can sleep anywhere, if you’re tired enough,” he said.
Wrong answer, buster.
“Oh no…no way. I’m NOT spending the night taped to this chair! That’s…inhumane!”
Travis looked at me lazily and with disinterest in my protest.
“You’ll live,” he said, and again it struck me how mean he could be, where he’d never been mean at all to me while we dated.
My jaw dropped, aghast.
“You can’t be serious. I can’t sleep sitting up, Travis!”
“Be quiet, Lauren.”
“No, I mean it! I won’t get a wink and I’ll be useless to you guys tomorrow.”
That remark caused Travis to sit up straight. He leaned in and said, almost snarling, “What makes you think we have any use for you tomorrow?”
His words hurt me.
I swallowed, tears welling.
“You…you don’t?”
He just stared at me.
In a small voice, I said, “I could cook breakfast for you. And lunch. And dinner! I could be your assistant.”
He smiled gently. “That’s sweet. But no thanks.”
I was taken aback.
“W-what do you mean, Travis? What are you saying?” I whined.
“I’m saying that you don’t have to do all that.”
OK, maybe not so mean after all.
“But I will…I mean, I would. Please don’t make me sleep in this chair!”
“Shhhh.”
I pouted, “Travis…please. I’m begging you.”
He sighed heavily.
It felt good to be in my bed, though it wasn’t exactly how I’d envisioned it. Still, it was better than the chair.
Travis had untaped me from the chair and carried me upstairs, slinging me over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. He then laid me on my bed and re-taped my ankles.
My wrists were taped in front of me, but a piece of cotton rope—turns out he had brought a duffel bag into my house with all sorts of “goodies”—connected them to my taped ankles, so I couldn’t move my wrists more than several inches.
I was gagged. Again.
But no sock this time; rather, Travis had taken the belt from my terry cloth robe and passed it between my teeth, tugging on it snugly and tying it behind my neck. It wasn’t as effective as the previous sock/tape combo, but it kept me from forming words and muffled me to his satisfaction so he could sleep—which he was doing, on my floor.
Then he covered me with a blanket to keep away the chill from the air conditioning. I was still wearing the t-shirt and cut-off shorts.
I sighed and listened to him snore softly. Brick was still snoozing downstairs in my overstuffed chair.
I should have been able to sleep this way, but I was wide awake.
Of all the times to have insomnia.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I just couldn’t get comfortable, although I was very glad to not be in that damn chair anymore.
I began to think about my courtship with Travis.
What a gentleman he was—then.
We did a lot together—movies, restaurants, museums, shopping. You name it. The more we dated, the more it seemed like this was “the one.”
I had been engaged once, when I was a naïve 20 years old. My fiancé was 24 and wanted to be a lawyer. But he ran into some trouble when he was busted for marijuana possession and that kind of derailed the law career.
Then I found out he had been having an affair on me while in college—I found out from a mutual friend—and that combined with his legal problems prompted me to call off the engagement.
I hadn’t found anything close to real love since then—about seven years ago.
Then along came Travis, and I liked that he was older, wiser, and more sophisticated than any man I’d ever been involved with. It just began to feel “right” after about a month. Then, a month later, it was heading, I thought, to marriage.
Ha!
Flash forward to tonight, and the supposed man of my dreams was sleeping on my floor, after securing me in my bed and gagging me—after keeping me bound all evening and gagged for most of it.
Travis had loved our conversations and now all he seemed to be doing all evening was shutting me up—shoving socks in my mouth, putting his hand over it, taping it shut.
Even now, bedded down for the night, he felt it necessary to keep me gagged.
I don’t know why my mouth terrified him so, but it clearly had, because he was a different man when I was gagged than when I wasn’t.
When I was gagged, Travis’s demeanor was more calm, more in control. When I wasn’t gagged, he was more edgy and agitated.
I thought about all the gagging.
I could actually see why he had done it initially, when I was knocked out. Clearly I would have screamed the house down when I woke up in my taped predicament. So I really can’t fault him for gagging me that time.
But he kept me gagged, even after I had calmed down and was being docile. Not only that, but he didn’t want me to speak at all when he ungagged me to eat salad.
His story of being afraid that I’d try to talk him out of this was flimsy; he could have let me talk, and if I did try to coerce him, then he could have shut me up.
He was obviously annoyed at being shamed into ungagging me after Brick arrived. And he had shut me up several times afterward when my talking picked up steam.
I had tried to explain to him that it was totally unnecessary to gag me throughout the night, but Travis wouldn’t listen to my reasoning. He tied the belt from the robe into my mouth again as I was in mid-sentence. Not only did he keep gagging me, he was being rude about it!
Why was he so fixated on keeping me gagged?
It was bothersome to me, because I wasn’t looking forward to a full day of being kept gagged. And that’s what I was afraid was in store for me.
I racked my brain. I even traced our relationship back, trying to find clues as to why he was so intent on my not speaking, especially considering that my talking had never been an issue before.
Well, the situation was different now—that’s for sure.
He was a man holding a woman against her will, which certainly could require occasional gagging. But what if that woman is your girlfriend and she’s tried, for the most part, to be cooperative and non-combative?
I couldn’t figure it out.
I told myself that I’d simply ask him—as soon as I was able.
Finally, around 3:00 a.m., I drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Travis was an early riser. I knew that, but this was bordering on ridiculous.
The first nudge came at around 6:15 a.m.
I ignored it, hoping it would go away.
He nudged me again.
“Hey…rise and shine, hon.”
Once I fell asleep, I actually slept soundly. I was afraid I was going to be restless, which is part of why it took me so long to capitulate to sleep in the first place. But when I looked at the clock on my bedside table I was amazed that over three hours had gone by.
But on the other hand, it was only three hours. This girl doesn’t do good on three hours sleep. Why did Travis need me up so early?
He poked me again and I growled at him through my gag.
He was through waiting for me, and so as I yelped in surprise, Travis lifted me from my bed, slung me over his shoulder, and marched out of the bedroom with me in tow.
My bare feet thumped harmlessly against his thighs as he carried me, my hair all over his back. I grunted as he carried me.
Downstairs we went. Brick was still asleep in my chair. Why did he get to sleep in?
Travis spilled me onto the sofa. The kitchen chair to which I had been taped the night before remained in the front room, with me thankfully not in it—yet.
I looked up at him, shaking the hair from my eyes. I glared daggers at him. Talk about rude awakenings!
He smirked at me.
“You said you’d do breakfast for us,” he reminded me.
I gave him a quizzical look. Hadn’t he said that my doing stuff like that wasn’t necessary. Apparently after sleeping on it, he changed his mind.
“Well?” he said.
I shrugged and nodded.
I glanced over at Brick and said, “Mmmm?”
“He’ll wake up when he smells the food, believe me,” Travis said, smirking again.
I rolled my eyes.
Travis knelt before me and sliced the tape away from my ankles, which in turn freed the rope attaching them to my wrists. He untied the other end of the rope.
He took hold of my wrists and looked me in the eyes.
“I’ll untape your hands but the gag stays on,” he said.
My eyes widened.
“HMMM!”
“Yes,” he said. “Deal with it.”
I needed to pee but didn’t have my little bell to ring.
I motioned with my head toward the downstairs bathroom and grunted desperately.
He picked up on my signal right away, thankfully.
“OK. You may use the bathroom. Don’t dawdle.”
I nodded and stood, a little unsteadily. Travis put his hands on my waist.
“You OK?” he asked.
I sighed and nodded, then walked to the bathroom, feeling stupid with my mouth gagged despite my limbs being free. Again with the gagging.
I looked at myself in the mirror, after letting my eyes adjust to the bright bathroom fluorescent lighting.
I looked like hell.
My mascara was a mess, my makeup was mostly rubbed off, and I looked ridiculous with the terry cloth belt tied between my teeth.
Travis wouldn’t know, I thought, if I took the gag off and replaced it before exiting the bathroom, so that’s exactly what I did.
I licked my chapped lips, longing for lip gloss and lipstick, two of my favorite things. I was wearing it when Travis arrived last night, my lips full, shiny and delectable—kissable—but the gloss and lip color was long gone after hours of wearing gags and having Travis cover my mouth all the time.
I moistened my lips best I could, did my business, and washed my hands.
I looked at the terry cloth robe and sighed, dejectedly.
Against my wishes, I re-tied it between my teeth, trying to make it look similar to how Travis had tied it.
The terry cloth did a remarkably competent job of keeping me quiet. Because it kept my mouth propped open, I couldn’t really form any words, and the thickness of the material muffled me pretty good.
Just how Travis preferred me, I thought ruefully.
I stepped out of the bathroom and was startled to almost smack right into his thick chest. He’d been waiting outside for me, apparently.
He nodded for me to proceed to the kitchen.
I wondered when the surveillance of Battey was to commence. I’d have asked, but…
I stopped in the kitchen, crossed my arms in front of me, and arched an eyebrow.
May I take your order, sir?
Travis spoke on cue.
“Scrambled eggs, bacon. I saw some bacon in the fridge. Toast, coffee, OJ. Typical American breakfast.”
Yeah—cooked by a gagged woman. Real typical.